


The Clipped Club

by Accidentallytechohazardous



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6910294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidentallytechohazardous/pseuds/Accidentallytechohazardous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rukia and Rangiku have a lot more in common than they thought. Rukia's thoughts on her haircut after her promotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Clipped Club

Let it never be said that Rukia wasn’t used to taking criticism.

It came with the territory of being a shinigami, and often it was a sign of goodwill rather than disappointment. Kaien would harp on Rukia for flinching away from a blow he knew she could counter. Miyako would constantly be jabbing Rukia’s waist to get her to fix her form. A stern word from Ukitake would remind Rukia not to get distracted from her work. Practical things. Useful things. Annoying things, sure, but nobody likes being nagged. Still, it was nagging that may have saved her life.

Other critiques, Rukia doesn’t find as useful.

“What happened to your hair?” People would gasp, as if the mysterious properties of a haircut were unbeknownst to them. Hand held over gaping, breathless mouth at this strange notion of hairstyling. What a novel concept.

“But it was so pretty!” “I loved your hair long.” “Are you going to grow it out now?” At which point Rukia would, smiling tightly, direct them unto another topic. Usually her recent promotion, tapping the new lieutenant’s badge on her arm with a short fingernail. This, generally, thrilled people less than talking about her hair.

That was fine, though. Rukia’s fingers ran through strands of black, enjoying the lightness of it. The way choppy ends bounced against her jaw. An oddly foreign feeling of her own hand on the back of her bare neck.

A few people gave her odd looks, though. Nothing unusual there, just regular ol’ Street Rat Turned Kuchiki Heiress Turned Deserter Criminal Turned Renegade Hero Turned Recently Promoted Vice Captain making her usual rounds, collecting her daily intake of raised eyebrows and twisted frowns. What else is new?

She didn’t really ‘get it; until the weekly vice-captain meeting, walking into a room of familiar (if not mostly distant) faces and automatically looking for the impossible-to miss-shape of Renji. Someone blocks her vision, and Rukia mumbles a solid “Excuse me,” before she realizes who she’s speaking to and has to double-take.

“Kuchiki-san!” Nobody else says her name quite like that and, sure enough, Rangiku Matsumoto beams at her with starry eyes and hands on her hips. “I love your hair!”

And Rukia has to marvel, just for a moment, at the absence of long, wavy blond hair rolling down Rangiku’s shoulders and her back. Instead her platinum blond locks curl slightly towards her chin, and it makes her jaw and her nose look sharper and narrower.

Rangiku looks much lighter, all around, Rukia thinks. And she doesn’t believe it’s only because of a fashionable haircut.  
Rukia wonders unintentionally if her hair makes her look anywhere near as radiant as that, and then intentionally stuffs that thought down before her cheeks remember to flush. “O-oh! Thank you, Lieutenant.”

She hates that she stammers. That she’s nervous. Rukia has seen and worked with Rangiku maybe a hundred or so times, but the weight of the woman’s attention is much heavier when bearing down at her at full force. Rukia is not used to being comfortable with that kind of direct and pleased attention. Rangiku’s lips quirk, like her sincere and full-lipped smile is hiding a smirk.

The taller woman waggles one finger at Rukia chastising. “That’s ‘Matsumoto’ to you, Miss! Or at least ‘Matsumoto-san’. C’mon, you’re no unseated officer, anymore.”

She’s right, of course. Rukia huffs a breath through her bangs and pretends to be slightly annoyed. “You could’ve fooled me. I’m still the newbie, remember? I dont have anything on pros like you.”

“Oh, you’ll get into the swing of it. Not like you weren’t the obvious choice for the job.” Rangiku angles her wrist away from herself like she was telling Rukia a secret, though the volume of her voice doesn’t change at all. It carries. It fills a room like her cackling laughter. Like her clever eyes narrowing under bright blond lashes. “Really, though. You’re looking great!”

She says ‘great’ like a purr, tossing it around roughly in her throat. Rukia tells herself that she is an infamous mysterious ice queen who reveals nothing under pressure, and then nervously giggles.

“Yours does too, Lieu- Matsumoto-san.”

“Aw, Kuchiki-san!” Rangiku laughs, flashing white teeth. “You’re so cute!”

-

She tries to keep her eyes on the wall. Rukia tries to concentrate on her breathing, the fight to keep it cool and even instead of rasping and roaring in her ears.

She does not do this very well.

“If you want to stop, we can.” Rangiku’s voice hums in her ears, soft like the soft blue light from the windows filtering through the curtains. Usually when Rangiku says something of that nature, it’s at least somewhat teasing, like a challenge. But not this time, and never in this kind of situation. Rukia can imagine Rangiku’s pink lips turned in a tentative frown. The hands that grip Rukia’s waist are not entirely confident, squeezing too gently.

In rebuttal, Rukia sighs into the soft skin of Rangiku’s neck. She inhales tones of peach and rose, the taste of soap from Rangiku’s shower when she drags her lips across Rangiku’s neck. Rukia is struck by the impulse to bare her teeth and mar the lovely skin under her mouth as further proof of her own eagerness, but she talks herself out of it. The relationship is too new to test like that. Or Rukia is too new to this relationship.

Rangiku lets her explore, finding dips and curves down her shoulders and collarbone. Rukia kisses the flat plane of skin underneath her breasts, her cheeks brushing the sloping curves of those breasts and her own body temperature spiking tremendously. Rukia’s palms cup Rangiku’s soft chest, enjoy the weight and the feel while Rangiku’s own fingers inch down Rukia’s hips. Warm hands with soft palms and smoothly shorn nails press into her calves, her thighs, her ass as Rangiku pulls Rukia into her lap.

“Matsumoto-”

“Rangiku.” The blond corrects her, and Rukia can hear the smirk return to her voice. Rukia indulges herself by burying her burning face in Rangiku’s chest.

“Rangiku,” Rukia amends, “I-” She wants to say something. Something good. Something about how lovely this feels, her hands on a body and that body’s hands on her, and the fact that this body is this person in particular.

She wants to put into words how beautiful Rangiku is, in a way Rangiku will not have heard it before. Of course she’s a beautiful, wonderful lady, and she hears it all the time. Rukia can’t find the new, right words, to describe the juxtaposition for the softness of Rangiku’s skin against the surprising firmness of her biceps when Rangiku’s arms are around her. The way her hair feels like soft cotton when Rukia’s fingers curl into wavy locks in an attempt to angle Rangiku’s mouth into a position that is more kissable.

“I-” But the words fail her. There’s no silence but there’s a definite lack of things between the words. They fall away from Rukia’s mind too quickly, and she’s lost again in the taste of Rangiku’s fruit and floral soap.

Rangiku’s hands trace up Rukia’s back in a gesture that is soothing, and they are pressed against each other. Rukia’s chest and breasts and stomach and all of her, her bare legs wrapped around Rangiku’s hips. All of Rukia and all of Rangiku. She wants them to sink into each other, find the hidden cracks and crevices to fill up. She wants them to be two, individual, separate beings creating a single, united connection. Rukia wants a lot of things, and they all contradict each other.

“Shhh. You are so cute.” Rangiku’s lips are on Rukia’s forehead, one hand plays with the hairs on the back of Rukia’s neck and the other travels between Rukia’s thighs. “Lie back for me, okay?”

She does so. Rukia always imagined that when her relationships turned sexual, she would always be the one in control. The bossy princess making her demands, so to speak. Rukia lies back against the sheets and waits with bated breath for Rangiku to crouch over her. The faint light adds dark shadows across Rangiku’s smooth face and curves. And with a sharp grin hidden behind tightly sealed lips, she looks exactly like the playful predator everybody teasingly referred to her as. The joke was on them. Most people who teased Rangiku about her feline tendencies would never see her in the middle of a hunt.

Rangiku’s lips are soft, wet, as if specifically to counterpoint the extreme edge of her teeth. She kisses down Rukia’s breasts and stomach like she is trying to eat her up alive. Rukia swallows a moan, reaching behind her to grip the bed sheets lest she reach out and squeeze whatever there is of Rangiku to grab. She fears that if she touches Rangiku, she’ll stop doing what she’s doing now.

Rukia tries to look at the ceiling when Rangiku is low enough to be poised over Rukia’s hips, but that endeavor to concentrate fails almost as soon as it begins. She casts an eye down, between her open legs to see blue eyes like bright jewels looking directly at her. Rangiku’s strong shoulders are rounded, her rear and thighs visible behind her. The light hits her lips, wet from the many kisses that decorated Rukia’s skin, in a way so perfect Rukia is practically indignant about it. A throaty noise of need escapes her, which surprises Rukia and seems to amuse Rangiku.

Her tongue dips daintily- no, tauntingly between Rukia’s lips, and she’s already so hot and so wet she could kick Rangiku in the face for dragging this out any further. Rangiku traces patterns across her labia, over the soft center of her, while her arms loop around Rukia’s thighs to keep her in place.

At first there is so little contact, and then- all at once- Rangiku slides the flat of her tongue from top to bottom, dragging it over Rukia’s clit and it feels like fire and ice water in Rukia’s veins. Her muscles seize and her spine arches off the bed with a gasp. She feels thunder deep in her gut.

Rukia’s fingers twist in Rangiku’s hair, wrestling each other for a grip in those short, slippery curls while Rangiku eats her out. She wants to pull (away or deeper in? Rukia couldn’t be less certain) but she restrains, even now she restrains because she wants Rangiku to do this. She wants these feelings and this freedom, and the freedom that comes with these feelings, and she wants to come.

“Rangiku-” She comes the way tectonic plates move in an earthquake, with growing tremors and a sudden, shaking, violent shudder. The air burns in Rukia’s chest and the pleasure spreading from inside her is so forceful it’s nearly brutal. Rukia’s entire body snaps like a rubber band. “Fuck!”

And the pleasure lingers. Oh god, does it linger. It feels almost invasive, like after everything Rukia’s body has sustained, the severe battles and the attempts on her life and even the pain that was impersonal, she should not be able to feel satisfaction or contentment or simple happiness like this. It takes Rukia several moments of deep breathing to realize she’s gone limp all over.

With great effort, Rukia’s eyes focus in from staring into space to roll around in their sockets before finding Rangiku. To feel a new, fresh wave of attraction wash over her at the sight of Rangiku wiping at her slick and shiny chin with her wrist, and licking her wet lips with a face of victory. The best kind of victory, in fact, one where both parties are winners.

Rukia drags her hands through her own hair, peeling her heavy bangs off of her damp forehead. She is exhausted, and happy, and weird because those two things don’t usually go together for her. She should have gotten her bangs trimmed more. “Don’t say it.” Rukia says, with the upturned, whiny lilt in her voice that indicates she is perfectly aware that Rangiku will say it, and possibly can’t stop herself from saying it.

“Rukia-chan,” Rangiku giggles. Her face is also flushed, pink and illuminated, and looking sharp with the soft shadows and her shopping hair. “You’re so cute!”

Rukia expends the very last traces of her energy searching for a pillow to be thrown in Rangiku’s face.


End file.
